Quarantine Spankings

Our formula for the surviving the current pandemic involves equal measures of precaution, luck, and morale boosters. Randy and I are very fortunate to be able to continue working from home and we’ve managed to mostly avoid confined public spaces. We have been lucky so far. This post concerns those morale boosters, which are also known as spankings.

Way back in March, we each set up our own work space. I converted our dining room into an office where I can write. Randy installed a desk in one corner of our living room where he does his work. The two rooms are adjoining so while I can see him, we aren’t on top of each other (at least not while we’re working). It’s been a pretty good setup. Early on, we discussed converting our departed daughter’s room from a guest room to an office, but decided that we like being in relatively close proximity. We use ear buds for video meetings and to listen to music so any auditory distractions are manageable.

The other advantage to this arrangement is the ease with which we can partake in those morale boosters. Almost every workday, usually around the lunch hour, Randy will text me and ask whether I need a “break.” Sometimes, I have meetings or pressing assignments, but more often than not, I respond in the affirmative.

For all of our time together, until recently, spankings were a special occasion. Even if it was just a quickie before heading out on an adventure, getting my bottom toasted was a highlight of my day and my week. This wasn’t an event that I ever thought would be or even could be routine. But here we are.

I now wear skirts most days with a thong underneath to facilitate efficient spankings. After all, our time is limited. When the moment arrives, I position myself either bent over the back of the couch or less frequently, over his lap on the couch.

Randy keeps our trusty leather paddle on a side table beside the couch. This appears to be its new home. This particular semi-flexible implement has proven to be ideal for this scenario. We learned early on that most wooden implements are too severe for daily use. This paddle is the opposite of a pervertible. It’s an object that obviously can have only one purpose. We don’t get visitors, but if we did, anyone viewing that paddle on our table would immediate recognize that it’s there because someone gets her bottom beat with it. Happily, that someone is me.

Once I am in settled into position, Randy lifts my skirt, grabs the paddle, and asks, “Ready?” After I repeat the word as confirmation, our paddling begins. He starts with moderate intensity swats and gradually increases the strength as the spanking proceeds. My bottom hurts in a stinging way, but it also feels good. I’ve recorded my vocalizations and they sound like this:

          Ow! Ouch! Ooo! Ah! Yeow! Eek! Ack! No!

I might say “no,” but that doesn’t mean I want him to stop spanking me. I have a safeword for that. It means that the strikes are now arriving faster than I can process them.

And then suddenly, it’s over. Randy returns the paddle to its place of honor, rearranges my skirt, and helps me up. At this point, I feel small and a bit disoriented. My morale is definitely boosted, but wow. He hugs me as I bury my face into his strong chest. I rub my bottom to savor the residual soreness.

Next, we usually heat and consume a quick lunch. I escape to the bathroom to refresh my makeup, fix my hair and clothing, and check for any posterior marks (alas, no marks, just a bit of redness). Within a few minutes, I am back at work, sitting on an unforgiving dining room chair because Randy filched my cushion while I was in the bathroom. But it’s OK. I spend the afternoon in video meetings hiding a hint of smile. My husband spanked me and I love him. The discomfort is sadly short lived, but the good feelings carry me through until quitting time.

We still enjoy our more choreographed spanking adventures, especially on Friday evenings, and those remain a special part of our relationship. But this new opportunity has expanded our definition of what a good spanking can be. When (if?) we return to spending our days in our respective workplaces, I will miss these lunch breaks.